


Pocket Sized God

by SaucyWench



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-01-31 07:19:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18586462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaucyWench/pseuds/SaucyWench
Summary: A fill for the GatheringFiKi Spring  Fandom Raffle Exchange 2019!Prompt: A character is de-aged.





	1. Chapter 1

Mitchell hated going to Mike’s bar.  The only thing he hated more than going to Mike’s bar was to let Anders go to Mike’s bar without him.  The only time any of Anders’ family called him was to use him for something, and Mitchell didn’t want Anders to be alone, at their mercy.  So here he was, sitting in Mike’s bar, trying to avoid overhearing yet another argument between the Johnson brothers while blending in with the scenery.

To be fair, the argument was mainly between Anders and Axl.  Olaf was off somewhere, probably cavorting with a goddess.  Mike and Ty were there, but both of them looked almost as uncomfortable as Mitchell felt.  Ty was slumped on a bar stool while Mike was behind the bar, leaning on it and watching the argument.  Anders and Axl were toe-to-toe in the middle of the bar, and their proximity was making Mitchell jumpy. 

“I don’t know why you can’t just Bragi them,” Axl growled into Anders’ face. 

Mitchell’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t say anything.  The argument had been going on for a while now, but Anders would not thank him for interfering. 

Despite being smaller, Anders didn’t back down from Axl’s anger.  He leaned forward, almost on tiptoe, to snarl at Axl.  “I told you, it doesn’t work that way.  I can’t use Bragi on a big crowd.”

Axl slapped his own thigh in frustration.  “Why won’t you just try it?”

“How many times do I have to explain it before it sinks into that thick head of yours?  Did you lose brain cells when you became Odin?” Anders snarked.

Axl’s lips thinned and turned white, he pressed them together so hard.  His hands were balled into fists, but he didn’t raise them.

Mitchell tensed, ready to move if Axl became physically violent.  He was not going to sit here and watch Anders be hurt. 

“Besides, aren’t you supposed to be out on a date?  I thought you had a lead on the Frigg?  Maybe you’ll relax if you get laid.”  Anders looked down and sneered.  “Unless you can’t rise to the occasion.  Is your little Gungnir not up for it?”

“Dammit, Anders!” Axl exploded.  “You are such a fucking child!”

Mitchell was already moving to separate the brothers when there was a brilliant white flash.  It was blinding and he instinctively ducked, waiting for the loud clap of thunder that always accompanied a nearby lightning strike.  It never came.  Mitchell was blinking his eyes, trying to clear the spots from his vision, when he heard a quiet whimper.  It sounded obscenely loud in the expectant silence.

There was a young boy standing in the middle of the room.  He was older than a toddler, but not by much, maybe five or six years old.  He was wearing a suit that was much too large for him, looking like a child playing dress up with his father’s clothes.  He had golden blond hair, a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and huge blue eyes.  He was staring up at Axl with a wounded expression, his cupid’s bow lips parted.

“Anders?” Ty murmured.

The boy, Anders, turned to look at Ty.  The movement made the suit jacket slide off his shoulders, and he clutched at it to keep it from falling off entirely. 

“What did you do, Axl?”  Mike sounded resigned. 

“Me?  I didn’t do anything!” Axl protested. 

Ty gestured to tiny Anders.  “You obviously did something.”

“Why is everything automatically my fault?  I didn’t do this!”  Axl waved a hand at Anders.

Anders cringed and edged sideways, away from Axl.  His eyes darted between Axl, Ty, and Mike as he took another sliding step towards the door.  He looked like he might have already bolted, if it were not for the pants tangled around his legs.

Mike was frowning at Anders.  “Ty, call Olaf and see if he knows how to fix this.  Axl, go sit down, you’re scaring him.”

Ty walked to the back of the bar, pulling his phone out as he went.  Axl huffed, but took a seat, leaning back and crossing his arms.  Mitchell stood there, uncertain of what to do.  Anders watched them all, a wary expression on his face. 

“I’d forgotten how small he was,” Mike said. 

Axl snorted.  “He’s still small, even when he’s grown.”

Anders’ coat slipped off one shoulder again, and he struggled to keep it in place.  He pushed the sleeves up to expose his hands so he could pull his pants up, but it was a losing battle.  He held his pants up with one hand while clinging to the lapels of the jacket, wrapping it around him like a robe. 

Mike sounded almost like he was talking to himself when he said, “Anders didn’t talk for a while when he was this age.  The school counselor called it elective mutism, said it was caused by a traumatic event.  I couldn’t tell him our entire lives were a trauma back then, they would have called the social workers.  So, Anders ended up being labelled a troublemaker.”

Ty rejoined them, waving his phone.  “Olaf’s not answering.  I left a message.  I don’t remember Anders being mute.”

“You were too young,” Mike shook his head.  “I don’t think Axl was even walking, yet.”

“I can’t image Anders shutting up, ever,” Axl muttered. 

Everyone ignored him.  Anders didn’t react, except to watch all of them, never losing that vigilance. 

Mitchell had to reevaluate how old Anders was.  If Axl was already born, Anders would be closer to ten than five.  Small for his age, indeed. 

“Well, he can stay here until we hear back from Olaf,” Mike said. 

Mitchell looked around at the brothers.  Axl was sneering while Mike looked put out.  Ty was looking at Anders like he might look at some exotic bug he found on the sidewalk. 

Mitchell wondered if child Anders remembered who he was, what they were to each other, or if his mind and memories had reverted to childhood along with his body. He decided it didn’t matter.  He was not going to leave a small, helpless child Anders alone with these men. 

“Do you want to come home with me?” Mitchell asked Anders. 

Mike protested, “He’ll be safe here, Mitchell.”

Mitchell watched Anders as he said, “He’ll be safer at his home with me.”

Anders looked between Mike and Mitchell, before stopping on Mitchell.  He stared long enough for Mitchell to start to worry, but then gave a tiny nod. 

That was good enough for Mitchell.  He scooped Anders up into his arms, clothes and all.  He only paused long enough to grab Anders’ shoes and hand them to the boy before ignoring Mike’s token protest and leaving the bar. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Mitchell got them home and deposited Anders on the couch, but then they stared at each other.  Now what should he do?  Mitchell didn’t know what to do with a child.  It wasn’t like vampires were popular babysitters.  He hadn’t been around children since he was mortal. 

Not that this was a normal babysitting situation, either.  Anders hadn’t moved, just sitting there staring at Mitchell with those big, blue eyes and a haunted expression.  Mike had said Anders didn’t talk at this age, but he surely understood, right?  He had understood enough to agree to come home with him from the bar, anyway.

Mitchell sat on the other end of the couch, far enough away as to not be threatening.  “I’m Mitchell.  Do you remember me?”

Anders made a movement that could have been a shrug, but it also could have been from the oversized coat slipping again. 

“Right.”  Mitchell stood up and clapped his hands.  “First things first.  Maybe we can find something for you to wear that isn’t a business suit, yeah?  Stay here and I’ll be right back.”

No answer.  Mitchell resisted the urge to sigh and headed to the bedroom.

Ander’s silence was starting to unnerve Mitchell.  Anders was full of snark and sass and would always have a quick comeback.  Except as a child, apparently.  It was hard to reconcile this child with the man he would become.  Mitchell just needed to focus on taking care of the child until they found a way to recover the man. 

He managed to find a pair of sweats that adult Anders complained were too small, and an old t-shirt that was faded, but had reached that perfect state of worn softness.  That would do until Anders was cured.  At least if he was cured in a day or two, otherwise they’d have to go shopping. 

Mitchell fought down a wave of anxiety.  They would be able to fix this. 

He forced a smile and went back into the living room.  “No underwear, but this should work.”  He handed the clothes to Anders. 

Anders didn’t undress so much as he stood up and let the oversized suit fall off.  Mitchell couldn’t keep his smile going as he watched.  Anders was all pointy elbows, scabby knees, and knobby spine.  Were all kids like that?  Knowing Anders was neglected as a child was one thing, but seeing the evidence was something else.  Well, he couldn’t fix the past, but he could take care of the present. 

“I’ll fix us something to eat,” Mitchell said.

Anders looked up from tightening the drawstring on his pants and gave Mitchell a searching look before a tiny nod.

It wasn’t talking, but it was at least some sort of communication.  Mitchell would take small victories where he could get them.  He gave a relieved nod in return before going into the kitchen. 

What should he feed a tiny Anders?  Kids had different nutritional needs, Mitchell knew, but he wasn’t sure what those needs were.  It was a struggle to get adult Anders to eat green vegetables, and he wasn’t up to dealing with that right now.  He picked up a package of the bourgie herbed goat cheese Anders liked, but put it back down with a grimace.  After staring into the fridge for a moment, he grabbed everything he needed to make a grilled cheese sandwich. 

Mitchell would be the first to admit, he was not much of a cook.  Any idiot should be able to make a grilled cheese sandwich, though.  Except maybe not, because the butter was too hard and wouldn’t spread.  When he tore holes in the third slice of bread, he braced his arms on the countertop and sighed.  A quiet noise had him looking up. 

Anders was standing at the edge of the kitchen, peeking around the corner of the wall.  When he saw Mitchell looking at him, he started to duck back before pressing his lips together and stepping into the room.  His hands were fisted at his sides, and he was staring at Mitchell defiantly. 

“Hey, you aren’t in trouble or anything, it’s your kitchen too,” Mitchell assured him.  When Anders relaxed at that, Mitchell continued, “I’m just upset because I’m a shit cook.”  He gestured to the ruined bread. 

Anders took in the situation and opened the refrigerator.  He pulled out a jar of mayonnaise, set it on the counter, and started spreading it on a slice of bread.  He tried to reach to put it in the pan already heated on the stove, but Mitchell stopped him. 

“You can barely see over the counter right now.”

Anders glanced at a chair.

“Absolutely not.  How about I handle the actual cooking for now?”  Mitchell looked at the bread.  “And mayo?  Really?  I thought you needed butter for a grilled cheese.”

Anders shrugged, then nodded and pointed to the stove. 

“If you say so.”  Mitchell had his doubts, but did as Anders indicated and put the bread, mayo side down, in the pan.  He took the slice of cheese Anders offered, and put it on top, followed by another slice of bread.  He watched it, and when Anders patted his arm, he flipped the sandwich to reveal a perfectly browned side. 

“Huh, who knew?  I’m impressed.”  He smiled down at Anders and got a gap-toothed grin in response.  It made his chest hurt.   He kept his voice casual when he said, “You cook a lot for your brothers, huh?  I bet they like that.”

Anders nodded, going on tiptoe to check the sandwich before nudging Mitchell to take it out of the pan. 

Mitchell set the sandwich on a plate and kept his mouth shut, but still seethed while he cut the sandwich into triangles.  He already disliked the Johnson clan, but now he was starting to actively hate them.  It seems like they have always taken Anders for granted. 

“Here,” he said, handing the plate to Anders.  “Go sit down and eat.”

Mitchell started another sandwich and poured a glass of milk.  Anders eyeballed it but didn’t argue when Mitchell sat it on the table in front of him. 

Two sandwiches later, Anders pushed his plate away.  He finished off the milk before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Get enough to eat?”  When Anders nodded, Mitchell smiled.  He knew it wasn’t going to cure a childhood full of neglect, but he felt better knowing that Anders had a full stomach tonight.  “Why don’t you go watch some telly?  I’ll clean up.” 

He waited until he heard the television come on before he pulled out his phone and called Mike. 

When Mike answered, he didn’t bother with a greeting.  “Is Anders okay?”

That was fine with Mitchell.  He didn’t feel like making polite small talk with the oldest Johnson brother.  “He’s fine.  What did Olaf say?”

A sigh drifted through the phone before Mike replied, “We can’t reach him.  We’ve left messages, and he’ll call back when he gets them.”

“Fine.  Let me know what you find out.”

Mike started to say something, but Mitchell wasn’t interested.  He ended the call and resisted the urge to throw the phone across the room. 

Of course they couldn’t reach Olaf; he hadn’t been there for the boys as they were growing up.  Why should he be there for Anders now?  Mitchell had enough self-awareness to realize that he was being unfair.  If Olaf knew what happened, he would probably come home and try to help.  It was the _probably_ that kept Mitchell’s anger burning bright, though.  Olaf might come help, he might not.  Gods could be capricious, and the line between Olaf and Baldur was almost nonexistent.  Even if he bothered to show up, his help was unreliable at best, or downright harmful at worst. 

That was beside the point right now.  There was still a small child that needed care.  A small child who had been awfully quiet for a while, even accounting for the lack of speech.  A small child who had been left unattended, around all sorts of breakable items.  Anders’ dry-cleaning bags emblazoned with _KEEP AWAY FROM CHILDREN_ flashed though Mitchell’s mind, and a frisson of dread rolled down his spine.  Mitchell darted from the kitchen while he imagined all sorts of deadly scenarios, but stopped short in the living room. 

Anders was on the couch, sprawled out where he had fallen asleep watching a cartoon.  He had the remote control clutched in one tiny fist, and his feet didn’t even reach the floor.  It made him look smaller than ever. 

It also raised a question: where was Anders going to sleep?

Normally, they shared a bed.  That wasn’t going to work now.  Anders could take he bed, and Mitchell could sleep on the couch.  He bit his lip, remembering the bottle of lube on the nightstand.  Maybe after he cleaned the room and made sure it was child friendly.  Anders could stay on the couch, and Mitchell would take the bed.  Except what if something happened?  What if Anders needed him, or woke up early and got hurt?  Anders was unable to call for help, and Mitchell might sleep through any disaster. 

After thinking about it, Mitchell adjusted Anders so he was lying down on the couch and not slumped over, then headed for the bedroom.  He grabbed a few blankets and a pillow and went back out to the living room.  He put a blanket on Anders, making sure his feet were covered.  Anders rolled over with a quiet snuffle but didn’t wake.

Mitchell spread a blanket out on the floor by the couch and laid down on it.  He fluffed his pillow, but the blanket didn’t offer much padding against the hard floor.  Well, he’d slept in worse conditions, and this way he’d notice if Anders woke up and left the couch.

He stifled a yawn.  This parenting thing was exhausting, and he’d only done it for part of a day.  How did humans manage to do this for eighteen years?  Granted, Anders didn’t need as much care as an infant, but the emotional turmoil was overwhelming. 

Mitchell sat up and checked on Anders once more.  Everything was fine, so he laid back down. 

He could do this for one night.  Then tomorrow, he’d find a way to get his boyfriend back to the normal age and size. 

Tomorrow.  That was his last thought before he let sleep drag him under. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Vampires were always cold.  It was a part of life, or undeath, rather. Being dead was not great for one’s circulation.  Mitchell had learned to adapt and live with it. 

When it registered on his sleeping brain that he was warm, he woke up.  The next thing that registered was the source of the warmth.  He had a sleeping child sprawled on top of him.  So much for noticing if Anders got off the couch in the middle of the night.

Mitchell was on his back, with Anders draped across his chest.  It was cozy, even though Anders was drooling onto his shoulder.  Unfortunately, his bladder was insisting he get up instead of savoring the moment.

As soon as Mitchell started to move, Anders woke up.  He flailed around and ended up elbowing Mitchell in the stomach.  Mitchell caught his arms and wrapped him in a bear hug, more out of self-defense than anything, but Anders stiffened as if waiting for a blow. 

“Hey, you’re okay,” Mitchell murmured. 

Anders blinked up at him, and slowly relaxed. 

“There we go.  Can we get off the floor now?”

Anders huffed, but rolled off of Mitchell to let him up. 

Mitchell got up with a groan and hurried to the bathroom.  After he emptied his bladder, he washed his hands and splashed some water on his face.  He couldn’t see his reflection in the mirror, and that was a relief.  He probably looked like hell after spending the night on the floor.  He groped at his pocket, but his phone was still on the coffee table.  That was okay.  He needed to see to Anders before he called any of the Johnsons.  He made a face, but made sure to have a neutral expression before he left the bathroom. 

When he crossed the threshold, he nearly tripped over Anders.  He held the door as Anders ducked past him, then blinked when Anders slammed the door in his face.  He heard the lock click, but nothing else.  Anders was probably waiting for him to move away.

Knowing that a child thought he was lurking outside of the bathroom made Mitchell feel like a creep.  He cleared his throat and said, “I’ll go start breakfast.”

No reply, but there was a shuffling sound from the bathroom.  Good enough. 

He went and looked in the fridge.  Nothing had appeared in there since last night, no loaves and not so much as a single fish.  Well, expecting a miracle in the home of a vampire and god vessel might have been too much.  It raised a question of what to feed Anders for breakfast, though.  He couldn’t give a child grilled cheese sandwiches for every meal.  They would have to go to the store, and the idea of taking a small, quiet Anders out of the safety of their home made his insides clench. 

He ignored the feeling and grabbed a couple of eggs.  Hopefully the Johnsons had spoken to Olaf or had some idea of how to fix this.  Anders couldn’t remain a child forever.  Or, well, until he was grown again, at least. 

What would even happen if they couldn’t return him to his proper age?  The idea of raising his own boyfriend made Mitchell feel squirmy inside.  Ugh, just no.  But then what?  Give him back to his family?  Absolutely not. 

He shook his head.  One thing at a time was going to be the only way through this.  Breakfast now, other problems later. 

Anders sidled into the kitchen, keeping an eye on Mitchell.  He acted like he still expected to get in trouble for being in the room, even though Mitchell had said he was welcome.

Mitchell bit back a sigh and asked, “Are eggs all right for breakfast?  We don’t have a lot on hand.”

Anders looked at Mitchell holding the eggs, then turned to pull a pan out of the cupboard.

“Thanks, but I got it,” Mitchell said as he reached for the pan.

Anders pulled the pan back, away from Mitchell, and gave him a look.

“What?  Come on, even I can manage to scramble an egg.  Why don’t you go watch cartoons or something?”

Anders smirked, and seeing the familiar expression on his childish face was jarring.  He allowed Mitchell to take the pan from him, though, and headed to the couch. 

Mitchell managed to make the eggs and some buttered toast without a major disaster and took the plate to the living room.  He sat it on the coffee table in front of Anders and handed the boy a fork. 

Anders took it and picked up a piece of toast but hesitated before taking a bite.  He looked at Mitchell, and offered the toast to him.

“No, thank you,” Mitchell said.  “Go ahead and eat it.  We need to go to the store and get some more stuff to cook.”

That made Anders frown and thrust the toast at Mitchell’s face. 

Mitchell grinned and pulled back enough to avoid getting butter smeared on him.  “That’s yours.  Besides, I don’t exactly need to eat food, if you recall.”

Anders studied Mitchell while gnawing on his bottom lip.  He set the toast back on his plate, took a deep breath, and offered his wrist to Mitchell.  

“Oh, hey, no,” Mitchell murmured.  He wrapped a hand around Anders’ thin arm and had to suppress a gag at the thought of biting into it.  “That’s not… I’m good for now.  I fed not long ago, remember?”

Anders stared at him a moment longer before shrugging and turning back to his breakfast. 

That just raised more questions, didn’t it?  Surely Anders would be fixed before Mitchell had to feed again.  That was something he didn’t want to think about. 

Instead of cursing as he wanted to, Mitchell said, “Let me get you a drink.”  He stood and went into the kitchen, but just leaned on the counter a minute.  Vampires were not meant for this babysitting shit. 

A knock on the door roused him from his thoughts.  Anders popped up to look over the back of the couch, eyes wide and alarmed. 

“I got it, you eat,” Mitchell said as he crossed the room.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anders crawl up to kneel on the couch, peeking over the back.  Well, at least the kid wouldn’t be caught off guard if there was trouble.  Mitchell paused with his hand on the knob and inhaled deeply.  Great.  From the smell of it, there was certainly trouble, just not the type that Mitchell could bite and make it go away. 

He swung open the door and said, “Mike.”

Mike stood there, holding a brown paper bag.  “Mitchell.  Can I come in?”

Mitchell threw a glance at Anders.  The kid was still watching, but didn’t look as spooked.  With a shrug, Mitchell stepped back and opened the door wider. 

Mike came in with a nod of thanks, but he paused when Mitchell shut the door behind him.  He stared at Anders and muttered, “I hoped it would just wear off or something.”

“Yeah, well, it didn’t.  Did you get in touch with Olaf?”  Mitchell was proud that his tone was mostly not snarky. 

“Not yet.”  Mike set the bag on the kitchen table.  “How’s he doing?”

“He’s been turned into a seven-year-old.  How do you think he’s doing?”  Okay, so maybe Mitchell was not as successful at holding back the snark that time.

Mike shot him a dirty look, and then raised his voice to call, “Anders?  I brought you something.”

Anders came around the couch, but no closer.  He leaned one hip against the side of the couch and chewed on his thumbnail, watching Mike cautiously.  Seeing him be so careful made Mitchell want to lash out, throw Mike out of the apartment, and wrap Anders in a blanket.

Mike didn’t seem to notice anything wrong with Anders.  He took a bunch of bananas out of his bag, followed by a bag of grapes, then some peaches. 

“Fruit was always a treat when we were kids,” Mike said.  He pulled out some sort of sugary cereal with a cartoon character on the front that Mitchell didn’t recognize.  “So was this.  It was Anders’ favorite when he was this age.”

Anders quit chewing on his nail and stepped forward to accept the offered box.  He studied the character on it while Mike watched him.

“Thanks for bringing this by.”  Mitchell started putting the fruit away. 

Mike ignored him.  To Anders, he said, “We used to eat it dry, do you remember?  There was never any milk in the house.  There was always booze, though.”

Anders hugged the cereal to his chest and nodded. 

“You’d make sugar toast for Ty when he was a kid.”  Mike waited until Anders nodded, then laughed and asked, “Did you know he still eats it sometimes?  I caught him with it a week ago.”

Anders snorted and grinned up at Mike. 

Mike shook his head and lost his smile.  “I’m sorry.  I should have told someone.  About Joe, about the drinking, about all of it.  That school counselor, maybe.  Maybe he would have gotten you some help, instead of putting you in detention.”

Anders had lost his smile, too.  He shrugged with one shoulder and stared at the floor. 

“I know I wasn’t around much,” Mike went on.  “Especially when we got older and Mom left.  I was working already, but it wasn’t fair to you.  There’s a lot I’d do different, if I had the chance.”

Anders sighed and started chewing on his thumbnail again. 

Mike watched him for a heartbeat before he turned to Mitchell.  “Keep him safe, yeah?  I’ll tell you when we get in touch with Olaf.”

Without waiting for a response, Mike left. 

Mitchell blinked when the door clicked shut.  Anders looked sad now, but it wasn’t like Mitchell could ask if he wanted to talk about it. 

What did you do for sad children?  Mitchell didn’t know.  For lack of better options, he asked, “Do you want to watch your show while I finish putting this away?” 

Anders went back to the couch and sat down.  He was staring in the direction of the television but appeared to be lost in thought.  He kept the cereal box with him, not opening it, but tucking it against his side under one arm. 

Mitchell didn’t know much about children, but he was certain about one thing.  If this age regression thing continued, he was going to buy the kid a stuffed animal.  At least it would give him something to cuddle besides a cereal box.


	4. Chapter 4

For the second day in a row, Mitchell woke up warm and cozy and with a full bladder.  The bladder was easily explained, and once he opened his eyes, the source of warmth was identified, too.  Anders was curled up on the sofa beside him, watching television. 

At least Mitchell thought it was Anders.  When Anders had gone to bed last night – in their bedroom after Mitchell had done a sweep to make it safe for a kid – he’d been six or seven.  The child on the couch was eleven, maybe twelve.  His hair had darkened to the same golden blond shade as adult Anders, though.  When Mitchell moved, the kid looked at him.

His voice rough from sleep, Mitchell asked, “Anders?”

The kid smiled, showing off that dimple that Mitchell loved to kiss on adult Anders.  “Look, I grew!”

Definitely Anders, then, but Mitchell was having trouble keeping up with the changes in the situation.  “What happened?”

“I don’t know.  I woke up like this.”  Anders grinned and waggled his hands by his face before making a shocked expression.  When Mitchell didn’t react, he rolled his eyes.  “Nothing?  It’s Beyoncé!” 

It was too early in the morning for this.  Mitchell nudged Anders.  “Let me up.”

The boy huffed but did as requested. 

After he took care of his morning business, he came out of the bathroom to find Anders fidgeting by the kitchen table. 

“I didn’t want to wake you up, but I was hungry,” Anders blurted before Mitchell could say anything.  “I ate some of the grapes Mike brought.  But not many, there’s still lots left.  And I had half a peach, too.  I left half of it for you, though.  See?”  Anders gestured to the table, where there was half of a peach sitting on a plate wrapped in plastic, then tucked his hands behind him. 

Mitchell looked at the peach, then at Anders.  Anders, who was not looking at the peach, who was looking anywhere but at the half of a peach he left on the table, who was not looking so hard it was painful to watch. 

“Are you still hungry?” Mitchell asked him. 

A series of expressions went over Anders’ face, almost too fast to register - hope, want, sadness, and shame.  Finally, Anders regained enough control to settle on a bland non-expression, and he waved at the table again.  “That half is yours.”

“Anders.”  Mitchell waited until Anders looked at him.  “We have more peaches.  If I want one, I’ll get it.  You can go ahead and finish that one.”

Anders dropped his gaze and frowned at his toes.  “But yesterday you said we were almost out of food.”

Mitchell nodded.  “Yeah, but Mike brought that stuff for you.”

Anders wriggled his toes and watched them.  “Mike only gets paid every two weeks though, right?  So, I mean… we can probably make it last.”

It took a second for it to register, but once Mitchell got Anders’ meaning, he sighed.  “No, Anders, that’s not what I meant.  We need to go to the store, that’s all.  We don’t have to depend on Mike to buy us food.  Jesus, just finish eating the damn peach, okay?”

Anders finally quit studying his toes, and Mitchell pointed to a chair.  Anders sat down, and Mitchell pushed the plate in front of him.  Anders needed no further encouragement and finished off the peach while Mitchell leaned on the counter and watched him. 

“How much do you know about what’s going on?” Mitchell asked.  “Do you remember anything?”

Anders swallowed before replying, “I know I’m not supposed to be like this, a kid.  I know I’m grown up, and I remember stuff.  It feels like it’s not real, though.  Like I saw a movie about someone.  I remember it, and I know what happened, but it’s not really real.”  He shrugged and studied the plate.  “Like I know my brothers are all grownups, but they should be kids, too.  Axl’s still little, except he’s not.  I dunno, it’s hard to keep it straight in my head.”

Mitchell didn’t know what to say to that.  He gave a nod to acknowledge it, then changed the subject.  “We’ve been cooped up a couple of days.  Want to get out of here for a while?”

“Really?”  Anders blinked huge blue eyes, and his dimple flashed with his smile.  He really was a cute kid. 

Mitchell had been reluctant to take a non-verbal small child away from the safety of home.  Now that he was a little bigger, and able to shout if he needed help, it didn’t seem like a bad idea to let Anders go run around a park or something.  Children needed exercise, right?  And Mitchell would be right there the entire time. 

Mitchell nodded.  “Sure, go wash up and let’s go.”

Anders whooped and bolted for the bathroom.

\---

Children were exhausting. 

First, there had been the challenge to find something for Anders to wear.  A shirt was easy enough, and Anders found an old pair of shorts in the back of the closet, but finding shoes was impossible.  They ended up having to make a run by a bodega to grab a cheap pair of beach shoes. 

Once they made it to the park, everything went great for a while.  Mitchell even enjoyed it despite the sun.  He’d been pushing Anders on a swing when a gust of wind whooshed by.  Mitchell was trying to get his hair under control when Anders hopped off the swings and went running to help a woman who was pushing a stroller, juggling a bottle and a phone, and losing her battle with the breeze.  When Mitchell caught up, she told him, “Your son is such a polite young man.”

Mitchell floundered at that, trying to come up with a response that did not involve blurting out that Anders was not his son, ugh, gross.  He couldn’t very well say that Anders was his boyfriend, though.  That would have created a whole new set of problems, probably involving the police.  Thankfully, she was distracted by her infant. 

Then, they swung by the store on the way home.  Mitchell wanted to pick up something easy to cook that was not a sandwich, but Anders talked him into getting a chicken to roast.  Mitchell had never roasted a chicken before in his entire life. 

How hard could it be, though?  Just stick it in the oven until it’s done.  Anders said he knew how to cook it, but it felt weird to let him do that.  Mitchell was supposed to be the adult right now.  Surely, he could roast a chicken, maybe open a couple of cans of some sort of vegetable.  He could make a healthy meal, no sweat.  Maybe he and Anders could do it together.  It would be fun.  

Anders was teasing him about his lack of cooking skills as they walked up the sidewalk to their home, but abruptly fell silent.  Mitchell looked up to see Ty and Axl standing by the front door. 

“Anders?  Did you get bigger?” Ty asked.

Anders just shrugged and stayed by Mitchell.

Conscious that they were on the front walk, where anyone could walk by and overhear them, Mitchell sighed and opened the door.  “I guess you should come in.”

“Thanks, Mitch.”  Ty had the grace to look sheepish as he slipped in the door. 

If they wanted a warm welcome, they should have called first.  Better yet, they shouldn’t have changed Anders into a child.  That would go a long way to making Mitchell act more hospitable. 

Axl strode inside as if he owned the place.  “Where have you been?  We tried calling, but no one answered.” 

Mitchell sat the bag on the table before answering, “We went to the store, and to the park for a while.”

“You went to the park,” Axl repeated flatly.  “You took Anders to the park.  Like this.”

Mitchell took a deep breath and fought to keep his eyes from turning black.  Axl was aggravating at the best of times, but now he was getting on Mitchell’s last nerve.  The situation would not be helped by an argument, though.  Especially not with Anders standing right there, staring up at him and chewing on his thumbnail.  Mitchell took something from the bag without looking and held it out to Anders.  “Put this away, please.” 

Anders did, and Ty watched him.  “It’s good that he’s growing, right?”

Axl shrugged.  “Don’t ask me.  I don’t know what’s happening, either.”

Mitchell put a can down with a thump and reminded himself that he was not allowed to kill Anders’ brother. 

Ty told Mitchell, “We just wanted to let you know we got in touch with Olaf.  He should be home in a couple of days.”

“Days?  Where is he?” Mitchell asked.

“You know Olaf,” Axl said with a grin.  “He said he went surfing, but he’s probably off somewhere with one of the goddesses.”

Mitchell couldn’t stop his eyes from turning black that time.  He rounded on Axl and demanded, “Don’t you think that fixing Anders takes priority over getting laid?”

“Hey, don’t blame me -”

“It’s your fault!” Mitchell interrupted.  “We wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for you.”

“Guys?” Ty said, but was ignored.

Axl stepped closer to Mitchell.  “Well, maybe if your boyfriend learned to keep his big mouth shut, he wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

“Oh, so now you’re saying it’s Anders’ fault?”  Mitchell came around the table.  He was sick and tired of this shit.  Axl thought he was tough?  Let’s see how tough he was when going up against a pissed off vampire. 

Then there was a weight pressing against his legs.  Anders threw his arms around Mitchell’s waist and blinked up at him.  “You promised we could watch a movie.”

Mitchell frowned at him.  “Not right now.”

Tears welled into Anders’s eyes, and he whined, “But you promised.”

Mitchell blinked his eyes back to human.  Anders was leaning on him harder now, and Mitchell staggered back a step. 

“Anders, it’s okay,” Ty murmured.  “No one’s going to get hurt.”  He glared daggers at Axl.  “Right, Axl?”

Axl pressed his lips together but didn’t say anything. 

Mitchell looked at Axl and Ty, who were having a silent conversation.  He looked back down at Anders, who was leaning against him harder than ever.  Mitchell rested his hands on Anders’ shoulders, and the boy flinched and started to tremble.

“What am I missing here?” Mitchell asked the room at large. 

Axl and Ty exchanged another look before Ty answered.  “Anders did this with our parents.  When they started fighting, he’d get in the middle and try to distract them.”

“And usually get smacked around for it,” Axl added.

“Oh, Anders,” Mitchell sighed.  He crouched down to get at Anders’ eye level.  “No one’s hurting anyone, okay?  Why don’t you go pick out a movie?”

Anders didn’t move, and now Mitchell noticed how he had positioned himself between Axl and Mitchell.  In a small voice, he asked, “Can we make popcorn?”

“Of course.  Go get a bag from the pantry.”  When Anders still didn’t move, Mitchell nudged him.  “We’re done arguing, I promise.  Go on.  I’ll be right there.”

Anders shot a look over his shoulder to Axl, but trudged to the kitchen. 

Mitchell stood up and watched him go.  Without looking back at Axl or Ty, he said, “I think you should go.” 

“Sorry, Mitchell.  We’ll let you know when Olaf gets back,” Ty said. 

Mitchell nodded.  He didn’t move until he heard the front door close behind them, then he sagged into a chair. 

He hated this.  He hated knowing how bad Anders’ childhood was, but adult Anders could deal with it.  Now, there was no telling when someone was going to step on an emotional landmine and everything was going to blow up in their faces.  Watching the brothers act like this was all business as usual made it even worse.  He ran a hand over his face and sighed. 

“Mitch?”  Anders was standing by the couch, holding a big bowl full of popcorn. 

Mitchell couldn’t help but think of how small and vulnerable Anders looked.  If he had a time machine, Mitchell would like to go back and see how Anders’ parents liked being smacked around.  Of course, if he wanted to confront a Johnson or two, there were plenty around now.  He could barely restrain himself from thumping Axl’s head against the wall half the time, and Olaf’s uncaring attitude was grating. 

It’s a good thing Mitchell was already dead, or all of this wouldn’t be good for his blood pressure.  He just wanted to stick his head under a pillow and scream.

But Anders was still standing there, staring at him.

“Ready to watch the movie, then?”  When Anders nodded, Mitchell forced a smile. 

God, he needed Anders back to normal, and soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, kudos, and comments! 
> 
> As always, I am over at Tumblr. Feel free to leave a prompt, tell me about your headcanons, or just say hi! 
> 
> [ [My personal blog] ](http://myseri.tumblr.com/)  
> [[My writing blog]](http://saucywenchwritingblog.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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